


Can You Build My House of Love?

by gczebos



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, eddie and stan are still dead BUT they're here don't you worry, post It Chapter 2, sorry y'all, this story is not about building a house it's about building a home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-07 15:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21219200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gczebos/pseuds/gczebos
Summary: “Richie? Are you okay? Is something wrong?” Why would he call me when he could call Beverly, what’s wrong what’s wrong what’s wrong -“How do you build a house?”“...what?”“Yeah, I looked up ‘how to build a house’ on WikiHow and the first step is to pick a location, which was like, way too fuckin’ easy, and then to purchase the property and do all the footprint and access bullshit which I already did -”“You - what?”“And then the next step is to design the house and I mean, buying shit is easy but I know next to nothing about design and architecture but then I said to myself, ‘hey, you’ve got a best friend who’s like, a world-renowned architect, maybe he could help’ which is why I’m calling you and wondering just how exactly one builds a house.”





	Can You Build My House of Love?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to my first ever multi-chapter fic! I am absolutely terrified! This fic idea is loosely based on a tumblr post I saw that I can no longer find, but if I find it, I will link it here for all of you! 
> 
> Title from Leonard Bernstein's "Build My House" - my inner musical theatre nerd is coming out #whoops.
> 
> Follow my on tumblr @gczebos, check out my other fics, and let me know what I should write next (besides the next chapter of this bad boy)! Thanks to @tozierlovebot for reading this through and telling me it's okay to post, literally an angel <3 
> 
> Enjoy!

When a phone goes off in the middle of the night at the Hanscom-Marsh house, it’s usually Beverly’s. 

It’s either a last-minute emergency call from a panicked twenty-something the night before an awards ceremony (  _ it’s going to be okay, don’t worry, it’ll be fixed and good to go before you even hit the red carpet, honey _ ) or a call from one of the remaining losers, typically after a nightmare.

On nightmare nights, Ben would wake up to the sound of Beverly’s soothing voice trying to calm someone down ( _ trying to calm Richie down, more often than not _ ), and he’d rub her back or kiss her hand or pull her closer to him to prove that he’d be there for her while she was there for Richie or Bill or Mike ( _ but mainly Richie _ ). The phone call would end, either with quiet and content goodbyes, or Bev saying, “goodnight” and letting the other person (  _ Richie _ ) listen as Bev and Ben fell back asleep, to reassure him that the two of them were fine, they were  _ alive _ , so he could eventually hang up once his two feet were firmly planted back in reality.

It had been almost a month since they’d killed the clown. Life was beginning to feel normal again.

After a day full of meetings, Ben had taken their dog Donnie out on his run, cooked dinner for when Bev got home from her consultations and fittings (  _ Thursday, Italian _ ), and even managed to share a shower with her before bed ( _ he now had the absolute pleasure of washing that winter fire hair while she washed his, it was sickeningly domestic, and Ben wouldn’t want it any other way _ ). Relaxing into the clean, white sheets next to the woman he had loved for twenty-seven years was the cherry on top of Ben Hanscom’s life. He wouldn’t trade it for a thing.

About three hours after the lovebirds had fallen asleep that evening, a phone rang. Beverly woke first, grabbing her phone from the side table and checking it, only to realize that it wasn’t the one ringing. She gently nudged Ben as he slumbered beside her, his eyes opening. A concerned look was already making an appearance at the edges of his face.

“Someone’s calling you, hon.”

Ben reached for his phone to see who could be calling him at - god, it was almost three in the morning - and was surprised to see Richie Tozier’s horrible, quadruple chin selfie ( _ the picture Richie himself had happily chosen as his contact photo in Ben’s phone _ ), staring back at him. He answered almost immediately.

“Richie? Are you okay? Is something wrong?” He couldn’t help the panic that slipped into his tone.  _ Why would he call me when he could call Beverly, what’s wrong what’s wrong what’s wrong - _

“How do you build a house?”

Well, that was not what Ben expected.

“What?”

“Yeah, I looked up ‘how to build a house’ on WikiHow and the first step is to pick a location, which was like, way too fuckin’ easy, and then to purchase the property and do all the footprint and access bullshit which I already did -”

“You -  _ what _ ?”

“And then the next step is to design the house and I mean, buying shit is easy but I know next to nothing about design and architecture but then I said to myself, ‘hey, you’ve got a best friend who’s like, a world-renowned architect, maybe he could help’ which is why I’m calling you and wondering just how exactly one builds a house.”

Bev’s brow furrowed from beside him.  _ A house? _ She mouthed, just as confused as he was.

“Richie.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s 2:53 in the morning.”

“It’s actually 3:53 here so I win.”

And that - that threw Ben for a loop. Chicago was two hours ahead of California, it should’ve been 12:53 at Richie’s place, not 3:53. He put the phone on speaker and turned on the lamp.

“Putting you on speaker.”

“Well howdy, Miss Marsh.”

“Howdy yourself, Rich.”

“I thought you moved back to LA.”

There was an awkward silence on the other end, shortly followed by some strained laughter.

“I did! I, I uh, did, for a little bit. Couple of weeks, y’know - gotta get that SoCal glow, pick up the beach babes and everything -”

“Richie - “

“I promise I’m getting to it, I’m - I’m getting to the real shit just - give me like two minutes.”

Bev put her chin on Ben’s shoulder, and they waited for Richie to figure out what he was trying to say. If it had been anyone else calling for the same reason in the middle of the night, they probably wouldn’t have been quite so patient - but Richie had a way of covering things up by saying as many words as fast as possible, even if they didn’t necessarily make sense ( _ y’know, sometimes I say all that stupid shit to give myself time to work up to whatever I don’t want to say but need to, Benny _ ).

“I - I bought the Neibolt property.”

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Suddenly everything Richie said added up. 3:53, Richie was back in Derry (  _ alone, he’s in Derry alone, he shouldn’t be there alone _ ), and he’d bought the Neibolt property.  _ The first step is to pick a location, which was like, way too fuckin’ easy, and then to purchase the property and do all the footprint and access bullshit, which I already did - _

“Are you moving back there permanently?” Bev asked, when Ben couldn’t find the words.

“I’m - I think so. At least until - uh, for the time being.”

The last thing Ben remembered before they’d parted their separate ways was how badly everyone wanted to get the hell out of Derry. That town had ruined their lives for more than forty years, and hell, Ben had never driven faster than when they passed the “You Are Now Leaving Derry” sign near the highway. And if Ben never wanted to come back, shit, wouldn’t Richie be the first one in line to forget everything about Derry and never look back? 

_ Eddie. _

“A bachelor pad in Derry, huh?” Ben finally replied, the smile on his lips evident in his voice. He could hear Richie breathe a sigh of relief.

“Duh, I’ll be like, the coolest middle-aged comedian in the whole state. Way less competition out here, I can probably start writing my own jokes and shit.”

_ And it’s close to Eddie, I’m living near Eddie, with Eddie, I can’t live without Eddie - _

“Took you long enough.” Bev laughed before smooching Ben on the cheek ( _ butterflies, every time _ ) and lying back down. “Night, Rich.”

“Night, Molly Ringwald.”

Ben glanced at the clock again. It was getting late, but luckily now that he had some context of Richie’s call, he knew how to wrap things up. “Listen Rich, I’ve got some free time tomorrow around noon your time if you want to talk details, and I’m sure I can come out there with some of my guys and -”

“Wait, you’re really gonna help me?” Richie asked, the bewilderment coming across clearly through the phone. He had only asked how to  _ build _ a house, not for Ben to come in and do the work himself. Picturing Richie with a hammer and nails, hard hat probably thrown to the side, trying to hold an entire wall by himself without getting crushed by it was amusing, but it’d be far less of a disaster if he helped his best friend out. Plus, he’d do anything for Richie - especially now, now that he was alone and hurting.

“You think I’d let you within two feet of a jackhammer with no adult supervision?”

“Touché, asshole.” 

“I’ll chat with you tomorrow, Richie. It’s - we’ll make it the best place ever. Something that feels like home.”

There was a brief moment where Ben thought Richie may have hung up, until he heard a shaky breath on the other end.

“Thanks, Ben.”

“Goodnight, Rich. Get some sleep, yeah?”

He heard a brief “mhm” before Richie hung up. The phone was put back in his place, the lamp turned off, and soon Beverly was pulling him back to his designated little spoon spot against her.

He fell asleep dreaming of the house he’d make to keep Richie happy, safe, and proud to call his home.

* * *

_ I can’t believe he bought a fucking house. _

He bought the lot so he could build the house, there’s not actually a house yet.

_ Richie doesn’t know how to build a fucking house. _

No shit, Sherlock, that’s why he’s talking to Ben now. Ben knows how to build houses and all that crap.

_ It’s like four in the morning. _

You really think he thought that through after having like seven Redbulls in two hours?

_ You were supposed to watch him! _

I did! It’s not like I could’ve stopped him!

_ Do you know how unsafe it is to consume that many Redbulls in a row? He could have a fucking heart attack or his arteries - _

Shut up - look. He’s finally going to sleep.

_ Is he - _

No, he’s not crying. Just - I think he might actually get some sleep this time.

_ Thank fuck, it’s been like two days since he got this crazy fucking idea and he hasn’t stopped - _

He’s building it for you, you know.

_ I know. _

He -

_ Not tonight. I can’t handle any more truths tonight. _

* * *

Ben learned very quickly the next day that Richie had some specific things in mind for the new Neibolt house. It had to have seven bedrooms ( _ even if they’re not crazy big or anything, and the master bedroom can be the same size as the others it doesn’t matter, I’d sleep anywhere it’s not like I need a fuckin’ palace or anything like that _ ), and he valued a more modest aesthetic over a showy one ( _ what’s the point of making a house where I feel like I can’t touch anything, right? _ ). Seven bedrooms seemed like a lot for a man living alone, and certainly felt like too many for a house in the middle of Derry, but Richie had been adamant about the number, even more so after Ben had suggested maybe only four or five.

“Everyone gets their own room.” Richie had said. Ben hadn’t had the heart to tell him that two of those rooms would stay empty, and that some of the others could be shared. So instead, he agreed.

“Everyone gets their own room, okay. Everyone gets a seat at the table too, I’m assuming?”

“Yeah - yeah that’d be nice.” 

“Is this just a backhanded way of calling dibs on hosting all future Loser’s Club reunions?”

Richie laughed at that, one of those real laughs that Ben hadn’t heard from him in a while, but was beyond glad to be seeing now ( _ even if it was only over FaceTime _ ). Laughter aside, Richie looked - well, Richie looked tired. Ben imagined he couldn’t be sleeping too well at night ( _ he calls too often for that _ ) but the most noticeable thing about him was his unshaven face and his shaggy hair. Richie’s hair had always been unruly, but this - he looked overdue for a haircut.

“Your hair’s getting long.” He mentioned as a lull worked its way into their conversation. Richie nodded, glancing at something to his left and then returning his focus to the FaceTime call.

“ _ Shloshim _ . Kind of.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I - I wasn’t supposed to buy anything large like -”  _ Like the property for a house. _ “But I mean, my parents only half followed the rules growing up or whatever, I’m just doing this for -”

_ Stan. _

Richie couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, and Ben wished he could hug him right then and there. “I’m sure he appreciates it, Rich. Thirty days, right?” 

“Thirty days, still got uh - four days left, I think.” Richie scratched his nose, and then cleared his throat. “So Haystack, hear me out - I had this idea for the front entryway…”

For someone who didn’t know much about architecture or design, Ben found that a lot of Richie’s instincts were good - shared bathrooms in centralized locations, high rise ceilings when possible, structuring the house so it felt roomy and warm and open and homey ( _ nothing dark, nothing cold, nothing cramped, and nothing that reminded him of the caverns underneath _ ). Ben jotted ideas down, sketched out some floor plan ideas, and made a list of reference images to send Richie later.

Perhaps the most refreshing thing about the call was how grown-up Richie seemed. His call last night, hopped up on energy drinks and unable to sleep without asking Ben for this favor - that was far more in character for the comedian than sitting down and talking logistics, but the change was more than welcomed. Richie hadn’t lost his personality at all, no - but he was making plans that could actually work, helping make decisions about something deeper than comic book choices and Hawaiian shirt options. An hour and a half had passed before they even knew it.

“Sounds like we’ve got our work cut out for us.” Ben teased, earning another big grin from Richie.

“Me? I’m just here to stand around and look pretty.”

“What happened to ‘every Brazilian soccer player wrapped into one person’ then?” 

“Must’ve had a smudge on my glasses that night.”

It was Ben’s turn to laugh. “God, it’s great talking to you, Rich. I’m excited for this - doesn’t it just feel right?”

Richie nodded, his smile still present, his eyes beginning to water just enough that Ben could’ve sworn it was a trick of the camera. 

“Yeah man, it feels perfect.”

* * *

_ His facial hair is disgusting. _

It’s  Shloshim .

_ That didn’t stop him from buying a lot for a house. _

He’s trying.

_ He’s - yeah. The house sounds nice. _

Seven rooms.

_ He doesn’t need that big of a house - _

It’s fine, he can afford it -

_ He’s making Ben drop everything to help him -  _

We both know Ben would’ve dropped everything anyways. 

_ That doesn’t mean he should!  _

You know just as well as I do why he wants - why he needs seven rooms.

_ Fuck seven rooms. _

Why are you so mad at him?

_ He’s being wasteful. _

He’s coping.

_ By spending literally all of his money and for what? To build this stupid seven-room house in this stupid fucking cursed town just because I - _

Hey. You don’t have to feel guilty about this.

_ He’s gonna be so lonely with all those rooms. _

We’ll be there for him.

_ He won’t know that. _

We’ll have to find a way to leave him a sign then, won’t we?

_ I guess. _

I think he’s doing well, all things considered. He’ll be okay.

_ Promise? _

Promise.

* * *

Richie was having trouble sleeping. Again. It wasn’t his fault - Derry had haunted him for most of his life, and now he was not only willingly staying here after everyone else had left, he was finding a way to make his little trip back to Derry a permanent thing. He had every reason to pick up his things and bolt (  _ words like fairy and faggot and flamer rang through his head over and over and he should be stronger than those words now but teenage bullies really take the courage right out of you  _ ), but his feet were planted firmly on the ground because -

Eddie.

He’d watched the house fall in on itself, and he’d fought the whole time trying to save Eddie. It was too dark down there, too dark, and christ, Eddie was buried in the same place that fucking clown was - 

Richie found himself leaning over the toilet at that thought, his dinner leaving him at an alarmingly fast pace.

“Shit.”

He knew he shouldn’t spend another night on the cold tiles of the bathroom in the townhouse, but thoughts of Eddie dying down there swam through his head, and once those thoughts started for the night, not much could stop them.

Richie sighed, pushing himself off of the bathroom floor and making his way back to the single, solitary bed in his hotel room. 

_ Those sheets are absolutely disgusting. Did you even check for bed bugs, dipshit? _

What Richie wouldn’t give to actually hear those words out loud.

He felt tears prickling behind his eyes again and he willed them away, because fuck - yeah, he was all alone with nobody there to see him cry, but he’d already cried after his phone call with Ben earlier that day because making a house seemed perfect, but absolutely terrifying, and he wasn’t some pussy ass bitch who spent his days crying alone in a practically abandoned hotel in his hometown while ignoring phone calls from his manager back in Los Angeles. No, that was absolutely not the kind of person Richie Tozier was, so he shook his head and crinkled his nose until he felt the tears begin to stop, taking deep breaths and reminding himself that he had good things coming.

He was going to build himself a house.

He still had Ben and Bev and Bill and Mike there to support him, just a phone call away.

He had money, and plenty of it - even though his last show had been a huge flop, and his future shows canceled. Having done two tours of shows helped more than it hurt.

Deep breath in, deep breath out - he’d be okay. Somewhere in his heart he knew he would be, it was just a matter of time. Buying the property for the house was an impulsive decision, but it was also one of the first decisions he’d made in years that felt good, that felt right. Maybe he was insane - maybe he was a man grieving over someone who was once his everything (  _ more than everything, the kissing bridge, the hammock, the - _ ), but maybe he was trying to make something better out of the shitty-ness that was Neibolt. Maybe now that the clown was gone, he’d start to make something that could turn the town’s cursed nature around.

He wasn’t sure what yet, but he’d figure it out.

* * *

It took over six months for the house to be built. Ben and Richie worked on it nearly every day during that time, along with a team that Ben had brought in to do most of the heavy lifting. Ben insisted that Richie didn’t need to help with some of the harder tasks, but Richie was immovable - he managed to focus on whatever instructions he needed, and Ben was pleased to find that Richie was an incredibly fast learner. He’d always known that, from school (  _ couldn’t give a shit about sitting down to study, but his brain was faster and bigger than most of theirs nevertheless _ ), but school had been years ago, and Richie was much more inclined to learn about building this house than he was about seventeenth century history.

Bill stopped by at some point to help build for a while, Mike too. They both helped put pieces of the house together, and the group always ended up getting drinks afterwards - it helped make Richie feel like no time had passed, that the Loser’s Club was back together again, sort of.

Bev was there most frequently, spending as much time as she could with “her boys” before going back to design great things for great people. Richie supposed that’s what made her and Ben fit so perfectly - they didn’t just design things, they helped shape people’s lives. Beverly helped elevate the best parts of her clients so they could present their best selves to the world - Ben helped turn houses into homes, each as unique and wonderful as the clients he designed them for. Richie - well, Richie just told jokes that other people wrote for him, so his work never felt quite as noble.

_ Maybe I’ll write my own jokes one day. _ He thought to himself as he wiped the sweat from his brow. 

“Hanging in there, Tozier?” Ben yelled over the noise of the construction. Why did Ben get to be ripped as hell and talented and kind and rich? 

“It’s not fair that when you get all sweaty you get to look like  _ that _ , what the fuck man?” Richie replied, undoubtedly sure that he looked seconds away from death, lifting large pieces of wood making it clear just how out of shape he really was. 

“Some of us took a little longer to grow into our looks.” Ben teased, hopping down from his little perch looking over the construction and down to stand beside Richie.

“Fuck off, you’re the worst.”

“I’m building you a house.”

“You’re gonna hold that over me for the rest of my life, huh?”

“Oh, you know it.” Ben laughed, giving Richie a noogie with his construction helmet on. “C’mon, let’s head out for the day, I think they’ve got it all under control.”

There were many days like this - days where Ben had to pull Richie away from the site just to get him to sit down and eat something, or to actually get some sleep. He felt bad for becoming a burden to Ben, but Ben was too nice to ever say anything about it, and Richie was too prideful to apologize for it just yet. 

After six and a half long months, the house was done. It was a beautiful home - the prettiest house in all of Derry (  _ which wasn’t saying much, considering that all of the town’s other buildings were basically falling apart  _ ). Ben had kept Richie away from the house for the past two weeks, as the last parts were put into place. He’d picked Richie up that morning from the townhouse, the rest of the Losers also packed into the car to witness the grand reveal of the new Neibolt house.

Bev had blindfolded Richie with one of her scarves, and Bill and Mike guided him to the front of the house while Ben told him that it was maybe his favorite project he’d ever worked on.

“Are you ready?” Ben asked, as they came to a stop. 

Richie hesitated before nodding. “Move that bus, Benny boy.” 

There was no bus to move, but when Bev dropped the scarf from his eyes, Richie couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped his lips.

It was perfect. 

It looked nothing like the Neibolt house - it was bright and new and inviting and the grass on his front lawn was green and there was even a white picket fence out front and Richie found himself begin to hyperventilate right then and there because it reminded him so much of Stan’s house growing up and a house Eddie would’ve wanted to live in and -

“Wh-Whoa, Richie, b-breathe.” Bill said from beside him. Mike’s hand was rubbing circles on his back and Ben looked a little worried for a second before Richie all but threw himself at the man, hugging him as tight as he possibly could.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, th-thank you -” Richie said over and over, his voice cracking before he could stop it. Ben’s arms only held him closer.

“Welcome home, Richie.”

* * *

_ Ben really outdid himself. _

He’s got a heart of gold.

_ And the inside - _

Every room - it’s a room for each of us. I mean, it couldn’t be more perfect.

(  _ a room lined with books, a room with postcards from around the world, a room with tapestries and fabrics, a room with nods to Frank Lloyd Wright, a room that was simple and clean with a bird house by the window, a room with a hammock hanging in it  _ )

_ I knew Richie would cry. _

How could he not?

_ And it’s big without feeling lonely - _

Ben made sure to add all the homey stuff.

_ It’s perfect. _

It is.

_ He looks happy. _

He does.

_ Will he - do you think he’ll stay happy? Or is it just a rush from everything all at once? _

I think he’ll be happy for a while. I think - I know he’ll find a way to keep being happy. 

_ You really think so? _

Look at him, Eddie. He looks more alive than I’ve seen him in months.

(  _ Eddie looked at Richie, laughing with the rest of the Losers as Mike and Ben cooked and Bev set the table with seven seats and Bill admired the fancy kitchen appliances  _ )

_ You think he’ll be able to hear us one day, Stan? _

Might as well give it a try.

(  _ Eddie looked back at Richie, and spoke the truest words he’d ever spoken _ )

_ I love you with all my heart, Richie Tozier, and you deserve to be this happy. _

* * *

Richie faltered mid-sentence. He could’ve sworn he’d just heard - but there was no way, right?

“Richie?” Bev asked, brow furrowed in concern.

“It’s - do you think Eddie and Stan are here with us right now?”

Silence overcame the room until Bill spoke up.

“O-o-of course, R-Richie. They w-w-ouldn’t miss out on all th-th-this.”

He’s right, thought a voice from somewhere else.

_ We’ll always be with you.  _

“To the Loser’s Club.” Ben said, bringing glasses with champagne around for the group.

“And to the brand spankin’ new clubhouse, built yet again by Ben.” Richie added, raising a glass.

“To home.” Mike said, bringing a smile to everyone’s lips.

“To home.”

**Author's Note:**

> "And all of a sudden, as he stood right there on his front porch, talking to maybe the only other man in this godforsaken town who understood exactly how he felt, Richie knew what he was going to do to make things right in Derry."
> 
> There's a nice little preview of the next chapter for all y'all! Who could it be? What is Richie going to do? Let me know in the comments below! <3


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